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all his conversation during dinner-time tend- | alacrity, while Osborne lay in bed deploring

ed to prove there was none? He became very confused and silent.

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"I must and will go," Amelia cried with the greatest spirit; and George, applauding her resolution, patted her under the chin, and asked all the persons present if they ever saw such a termagant of a wife, and agreed that the lady should bear him company. We'll have Mrs. O'Dowd to chaperon you," he said. What cared she so long as her husband was near her? Thus somehow the bitterness of a parting was juggled away. Though war and danger were in store, war and danger might not befall for months to come. There was a respite at any rate, which made the timid little Amelia almost as happy as a full reprieve would have done, and which even Dobbin owned in his heart was very welcome. For, to be permitted to see her was now the greatest privilege and hope of his life, and he thought with himself secretly how he would watch and protect her. I wouldn't have let her go if I had been married to her, he thought. But George was the master, and his friend did not think fit to

remonstrate.

Putting her arm round her friend's waist, Rebecca at length carried Amelia off from the dinner-table where so much business of importance had been discussed, and left the gentlemen in a highly exhilarated state, drinking and talking very gayly.

In the course of the evening Rawdon got a little family-note from his wife, which, although he crumpled it up and burned it instantly in the candle, we had the good luck to read over Rebecca's shoulder. "Great news," she wrote. "Mrs. Bute is gone. Get the money from Cupid to-night, as he'll be off to-morrow most likely. Mind this.R." So when the little company was about adjourning to coffee in the women's apartment, Rawdon touched Osborne on the elbow, and said gracefully, "I say, Osborne, my boy, if quite convenient, I'll trouble you for that 'ere small trifle." It was not quite convenient, but nevertheless George gave him a considerable present installment in bank notes from his pocket-book, and a bill on his agents at a week's date, for the remaining sum.

that she had not a maid to help her. She was only too glad, however, to perform this office for herself. A dim uneasy sentiment about Rebecca filled her mind already; and although they kissed each other most tenderly at parting, yet we know what jealousy is; and Mrs. Amelia possessed that among other virtues of her sex.

Besides these characters who are coming and going away, we must remember that there were some other old friends of ours at Brighton; Miss Crawley, namely, and the suite in attendance upon her. Now, although Rebecca and her husband were but at a few stones' throw of the lodgings which the invalid Miss Crawley occupied, the old lady's door remained as piteously closed to them as it had been heretofore in London. As long as she remained by the side of her sister-in-law, Mrs. Bute Crawley took care that her beloved Matilda should not be agitated by a meeting with her nephew. When the spinster took her drive, the faithful Mrs. Bute sat beside her in the carriage. When Miss Crawley took the air in a chair, Mrs. Bute marched on one side of the vehicle, while honest Briggs occupied the other wing. And if they met Rawdon and his wife by chance-although the former constantly and obsequiously took off his hat, the Miss. Crawley party passed him by with such a frigid and killing indifference, that Rawdon began to despair.

"We might as well be in London as here," Captain Rawdon often said, with a downcast air.

"A comfortable inn in Brighton is better than a spunging-house in Chancery-lane," his wife answered, who was of a more cheerful temperament. "Think of those two aids-de-camp of Mr. Moses, the sheriff's officer, who watched our lodging for a week. Our friends here are very stupid, but Mr. Jos and Captain Cupid are better companions than Mr. Moses's men, Rawdon, my love."

"I wonder the writs haven't followed me down here," Rawdon continued, still desponding.

"When they do, we'll find means to give them the slip," said dauntless little Becky, This matter arranged, George, and Jos, and further pointed out to her husband the and Dobbin, held a council of war over their great comfort and advantage of meeting Jos cigars, and agreed that a general move should and Osborne, whose acquaintance had brought be made for London in Jos's open carriage to Rawdon Crawley a most timely little supthe next day. Joş, I think, would have pre-ply of ready money.

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Why need we pay it?" said the lady, who had an answer for every thing.

ferred staying until Rawdon Crawley quitted "It will hardly be enough to pay the inn Brighton, but Dobbin and George overruled bill," grumbled the guardsman. him, and he agreed to carry the party to town, and ordered four horses, as became his dignity. With these they set off in state, after breakfast, the next day. Amelia had risen very early in the morning, and packed her little trunks with the greatest

Through Rawdon's valet, who still kept up a trifling acquaintance with the male inhabitants of Miss Crawley's servants' hall, and was instructed to treat the coachman to

drink whenever they met, old Miss Craw- | promised to return to her dearest friend, ley's movements were pretty well known by and departed, leaving the strongest injuncour young couple; and Rebecca luckily be- tions with the household regarding their thought herself of being unwell, and of call- behavior to their mistress; and as soon as ing in the same apothecary who was in at- she got into the Southampton coach, there tendance upon the spinster, so that their in- was such a jubilee and sense of relief in all formation was on the whole tolerably com- Miss Crawley's house, as the company of plete. Nor was Miss Briggs, although persons assembled there had not experienced forced to adopt a hostile attitude, secretly for many a week before. That very day inimical to Rawdon and his wife. She was Miss Crawley left off her afternoon dose of naturally of a kindly and forgiving disposi- medicine: that afternoon Bowls opened an tion. Now that the cause of jealousy was re-independent bottle of Sherry for himself and moved, her dislike for Rebecca disappeared Mrs. Firkin; that night Miss Crawley and also, and she remembered the latter's inva- Miss Briggs indulged in a game of piquet riable good words and good humor. And, instead of one of Porteus's sermons. It was indeed, she and Mrs. Firkin, the lady's- as in the old nursery-story, when the stick maid, and the whole of Miss Crawley's forgot to beat the dog, and the whole course household, secretly groaned under the tyran- of events underwent a peaceful and happy ny of the triumphant Mrs. Bute. revolution.

upon the bathing-machines on the beach; saw Briggs arrive, enter her box, and put out to sea; and was on the shore just as the nymph of whom she came in quest stepped out of the little caravan on to the shingles. It was a pretty picture: the beach; the bathing-women's faces; the long line of rocks and building were blushing and bright in the sunshine. Rebecca wore a kind, tender smile on her face, and was holding out her pretty white hand as Briggs emerged from the box. What could Briggs do but accept the salutation?

As often will be the case, that good but im- At a very early hour in the morning, perious woman pushed her advantages too far, twice or thrice a week, Miss Briggs used to and her successes quite unmercifully. She betake herself to a bathing-machine, and dishad in the course of a few weeks brought port in the water in a flannel gown, and an the invalid to such a state of helpless docili- oilskin cap. Rebecca, as we have seen, was ty, that the poor soul yielded herself entire- aware of this circumstance, and though she ly to her sister's orders, and did not even did not attempt to storm Briggs as she had dare to complain of her slavery to Briggs or threatened, and actually dive into the lady's Firkin. Mrs. Bute measured out the presence and surprise her under the sacredglasses of wine which Miss Crawley was ness of the awning, Mrs. Rawdon determindaily allowed to take with irresistible accu-ed to attack Briggs as she came away from racy, greatly to the annoyance of Firkin and her bath, refreshed and invigorated by her the butler, who found themselves deprived dip, and likely to be in good humor. of control over even the sherry-bottle. She So, getting up very early the next mornapportioned the sweet-breads, jellies, chick-ing, Becky brought the telescope in their ens; the quantity and order. Night and sitting-room, which faced the sea, to bear noon and morning she brought the abominable drinks ordained by the doctor, and made her patient swallow them with so affecting an obedience, that Firkin said "my poor missus du take her physic like a lamb." She prescribed the drive in the carriage or the ride in the chair, and, in a word, ground down the old lady in her convalescence in such a way as only belongs to your propermanaging, motherly, moral, woman. If ever the patient faintly resisted, and pleaded for a little bit more dinner or a little drop less medicine, the nurse threatened her with instantaneous death, when Miss Crawley instantly gave in. "She's no spirit left in her," Firkin remarked to Briggs; "she ain't ave called me a fool these three weeks." Finally, Mrs. Bute had made up her mind to dismiss the aforesaid honest lady's-maid, Mr. Bowls, the large confidential man, and Briggs herself, and to send for her daughters from the Rectory, previous to removing the dear invalid bodily to Queen's Crawley, when an odious accident happened which called her away from duties so pleasing. The Reverend Bute Crawley her husband, riding home one night, fell with his horse, and broke his collar-bone. Fever and inflammatory symptoms set in, and Mrs. Bute was forced to leave Sussex for Hampshire. As soon as ever Bute was restored she

"Miss Sh-, Mrs. Crawley," she said.

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Mrs. Crawley seized her hand, pressed it to her heart, and with a sudden impulse, flinging her arms round Briggs, kissed her affectionately. Dear, dear friend!" she said, with a touch of such natural feeling, that Miss Briggs, of course, at once began to melt, and even the bathing-woman was mollified.

Rebecca found no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a long, intimate, and delightful conversation. Every thing that had passed since the morning of Becky's sudden departure from Miss Crawley's house in Park Lane up to the present day, and Mrs. Bute's happy retreat, was discussed and described by Briggs. All Miss Crawley's symptoms, and the particulars of her illness and medical treatment, were narrated by the confi

dante with that fullness and accuracy which women delight in. About their complaints and their doctors do ladies ever tire of talking to each other? Briggs did not on this occasion; nor did Rebecca weary of listening. She was thankful, truly thankful, that the dear kind Briggs, that the faithful, the invaluable Firkin, had been permitted to remain with their benefactress through her illness. Heaven bless her! though she, Rebecca, had seemed to act undutifully toward Miss Crawley; yet, was not her fault a natural and excusable one? Could she help giving her hand to the man who had won her heart? Briggs, the sentimental, could only turn up her eyes to heaven at this appeal, and heave a sympathetic sigh, and think that she, too, had given away her affections long years ago, and own that Rebecca was no very great criminal.

"Can I ever forget her who so befriended the friendless orphan? No, though she has cast me off," the latter said, "I shall never cease to love her, and I would devote my life to her service. As my own benefactress, as my beloved Rawdon's adored relative, I love and admire Miss Crawley, dear Miss Briggs, beyond any woman in the world, and next to her I love all those who are faithful to her. I would never have treated Miss Crawley's faithful friends as that odious, designing Mrs. Bute had done. Rawdon, who was all heart," Rebecca continued, " 'although his outward manners might seem rough and careless, had said a hundred times, with tears in his eyes, that he blessed heaven for sending his dearest aunty two such admirable nurses as her attached Firkin and her admirable Miss Briggs. Should the machinations of the horrible Mrs. Bute end, as she too much feared they would, in banishing every body that Miss Crawley loved from her side, and leaving that poor lady a victim to those harpies at the Rectory, Rebecca besought her (Miss Briggs) to remember, that her own home, humble as it was, was always open to receive Briggs. "Dear friend," she exclaimed, in a transport of enthusiasm, "some hearts can never forget benefits; all women are not Bute Crawleys! Though why should I complain of her," Rebecca added, "though I have been her tool and the victim to her arts, do I not owe my dearest Rawdon to her?" And Rebecca unfolded to Briggs all Mrs. Bute's conduct at Queen's Crawley, which, though unintelligible to her then, was clearly enough explained by the events now --now that the attachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute had encouraged by a thousand artifices-now that two innocent people had fallen into the snares which she had laid for them, and loved, and married, and been ruined, through her schemes.

It was all very true. Briggs saw the stratagems as clearly as possible. Mrs. Bute

had made the match between Rawdon and Rebecca. Yet, though the latter was a perfectly innocent victim, Miss Briggs could not disguise from her friend her fear that Miss Crawley's affections were hopelessly estranged from Rebecca, and that the old lady would never forgive her nephew for making so imprudent a marriage.

On this point Rebecca had her own opinion, and still kept up a good heart. If Miss Crawley did not forgive them at present, she might at least relent on a future day. Even now, there was only that puling, sickly Pitt Crawley between Rawdon and a baronetcy; and, should any thing happen to the former, all would be well. At all events, to have Mrs. Bute's designs exposed, and herself well abused, was a satisfaction, and might be advantageous to Rawdon's interest; and Rebecca, after an hour's chat with her recovered friend, left her with the most tender demonstrations of regard, and quite assured that the conversation they had had together would be reported to Miss Crawley before many hours were over.

This interview ended, it became full time for Rebecca to return to her inn, where all the party of the previous day were assembled at a farewell breakfast. Rebecca took such a tender leave of Amelia as became two women who loved each other as sisters; and having used her handkerchief plentifully, and hung on her friend's neck as if they were parting forever, and waved the handkerchief (which was quite dry, by the way) out of window, as the carriage drove off; she came back to the breakfast-table, and ate some prawns with a good deal of ap petite, considering her emotion; and while she was munching these delicacies, explained to Rawdon what had occurred in her morning walk between herself and Briggs. Her hopes were very high: she made her husband share them. She generally succeeded in making her husband share all her opinions, whether melancholy or cheerful.

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You will now, if you please, my dear, sit down at the writing-table and pen me a pretty little letter to Miss Crawley, in which you'll say that you are a good boy, and that sort of thing.' So Rawdon sat down, and wrote off, "Brighton, Thursday," and "My dear Aunt," with great rapidity: but there the gallant officer's imagination failed him. He mumbled the end of his pen, and looked up in his wife's face. She could not help laughing at his rueful countenance, and, marching up and down the room with her hands behind her, the little woman began to dictate a letter, which he took down.

"Before quitting the country and commencing a campaign, which very possibly may be fatal,”

"What?" said Rawdon, rather surprised, but took the humor of the phrase, and presently wrote it down with a grin.

"Which very possibly may be fatal, I have | They all want me dead, and are hankering come hither-" for my money.

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Why not say come here, Becky; come here's grammar," the dragoon interposed.

"I have come hither," Rebecca insisted, with a stamp of her foot, "to say farewell to my dearest and earliest friend. I beseech you before I go, not perhaps to return, once more to let me press the hand from which I have received nothing but kindnesses all my life."

"Kindnesses all my life," echoed Rawdon, scratching down the words, and quite amazed at his own facility of composition. "I ask nothing from you but that we should part not in anger. I have the pride of my family on some points, though not on all. I married a painter's daughter, and am not ashamed of the union."

"No, run me through the body if I am !" Rawdon ejaculated.

"You old booby," Rebecca said, pinching his ear and looking over to see that he made no mistakes in spelling-" beseech is not spelt with an a, and earliest is." So he altered these words, bowing to the superior knowledge of his little missis.

"I thought that you were aware of the progress of my attachment," Rebecca continued: "I knew that Mrs. Bute Crawley confirmed and encouraged it. But I make no reproaches. I married a poor woman, and am content to abide by what I have done. Leave your property, dear aunt, as you will. I shall never complain of the way in which you dispose of it. I would have you believe that I love you for yourself, and not for money's sake. I want to be reconciled to you ere I leave England. Let me, let me see you before I go. A few weeks or months hence it may be too late, and I can not bear the notion of quitting the country without a kind word of farewell from you."

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"She won't recognize my style in that," said Becky. I made the sentences short and brisk on purpose.' And this authentic missive was dispatched under cover to Miss Briggs.

Old Miss Crawley laughed when Briggs with great mystery handed her over this candid and simple statement. "We may read it now Mrs. Bute is away," she said. "Read it to me, Briggs."

When Briggs had read the epistle out, her patroness laughed more. "Don't you see, you goose," she said to Briggs, who professed to be much touched by the honest affection which pervaded the composition, "Don't you see that Rawdon never wrote a word of it. He never wrote to me without asking for money in his life, and all his letters are full of bad spelling, and dashes, and bad grammar. It is that little serpent of a governess who rules him." They are all alike, Miss Crawley thought in her heart.

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"I don't mind seeing Rawdon," she added, after a pause, and in a tone of perfect indifference. "I had just as soon shake hands with him as not. Provided there is no scene, why shouldn't we meet? I don't mind. But human patience has its limits; and mind, my dear, I respectfully decline to receive Mrs. Rawdon—I can't support that quite"-and Miss Briggs was fain to be content with this half-message of conciliation; and thought that the best method of bringing the old lady and her nephew together, was to warn Rawdon to be in waiting on the Cliff, when Miss Crawley went out for her air in her chair.

There they met. I don't know whether Miss Crawley had any private feeling of regard, or emotion upon seeing her old favorite; but she held out a couple of fingers to him with as smiling and good-humored an air, as if they had met only the day before. And as for Rawdon, he turned as red as scarlet, and wrung off Briggs's hand, so great was his rapture and his confusion at the meeting. Perhaps it was interest that moved him: or perhaps affection: perhaps he was touched by the change which the illness of the last weeks had wrought in his aunt.

"The old girl has always acted like a trump to me," he said to his wife, as he narrated the interview, "and I felt, you know, rather queer, and that sort of thing. I walked by the side of the what-d'ye-call'em, you know, and to her own door, where Bowls came to help her in. And I wanted to go in very much, only—” "You didn't go in, Rawdon !" screamed his wife.

"No, my dear, I'm hanged if I wasn't afraid when it came to the point."

"You fool! you ought to have gone in, and never come out again," Rebecca said.

"Don't call me names, ," said the big guardsman, sulkily. "Perhaps I was a fool, Becky, but you shouldn't say so ;" and he gave his wife a look, such as his countenance could wear when angered, and such as was not pleasant to face.

"Well, dearest, to-morrow you must be on the look-out, and go and see her, mind, whether she asks you or no," Rebecca said, trying to soothe her angry yoke-mate. On which he replied, that he would do exactly as he liked, and would just thank her to keep a civil tongue in her head-and the wounded husband went away, and passed the forenoon at the billiard-room, sulky, silent, and suspicious.

But before the night was over he was compelled to give in, and own, as usual, to his wife's superior prudence and foresight, by the most melancholy confirmation of the

presentiments which she had regarding the|—all”—and with this the lonely old woman consequences of the mistake which he had burst into a scream of hysterical tears. made. Miss Crawley must have had some The last scene of her dismal Vanity Fair emotion upon seeing him and shaking hands comedy was fast approaching; the tawdry with him after so long a rupture. She lamps were going out one by one; and the mused upon the meeting a considerable time. dark curtain was almost ready to descend. "Rawdon is getting very fat and old, Briggs," she said to her companion. "His nose has become red, and he is exceedingly coarse in appearance. His marriage to that woman has hopelessly vulgarized him. Mrs. Bute always said they drank together; and I have no doubt they do. Yes; he smelt of gin abominably. I remarked it. Didn't you?" In vain Briggs interposed, that Mrs. Bute spoke ill of every body: and, as far as a person in her humble position could judge,

was an

"An artful designing woman? Yes, so she is, and she does speak ill of every one, -but I am certain that woman has made Rawdon drink. All those low people do-" "He was very much affected at seeing you, ma'am," the companion said; and I am sure, when you remember that he is going to the field of danger-"

"How much money has he promised you, Briggs?" the old spinster cried out, working herself into a nervous rage- -"there now, of course you begin to cry. I hate scenes. Why am I always to be worried? Go and cry up in your own room, and send Firkin to me—no, stop, sit down and blow your nose, and leave off crying, and write a letter to Captain Crawley." Poor Briggs went and placed herself obediently at the writingbook. Its leaves were blotted all over with relics of the firm, strong, rapid hand-writing of the spinster's late amanuensis, Mrs. Bute Crawley.

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Begin My dear sir,' or 'Dear sir,' that will be better, and say you are desired by Miss Crawley-no, by Miss Crawley's medical man, by Mr. Creamer, to state, that my health is such that all strong emotions would be dangerous in my present delicate condition-and that I must decline any family discussions or interviews whatever. And thank him for coming to Brighton, and so forth, and beg him not to stay any longer on my account. And, Miss Briggs, you may add that I wish him a bon voyage, and that if he will take the trouble to call upon my lawyers in Gray's Inn Square, he will find there a communication for him. Yes, that will do; and that will make him leave Brighton." The benevolent Briggs penned this sentence with the utmost satisfaction.

"To seize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute was gone," the old lady prattled on; "it was too indecent. Briggs, my dear, write to Mrs. Crawley, and say she needn't come back. No-she needn't-and she shan't-and I won't be a slave in my own house-and I won't be starved and choked with poison. They all want to kill me-all

That final paragraph, which referred Rawdon to Miss Crawley's solicitor in London, and which Briggs had written so good-naturedly, consoled the dragoon and his wife somewhat, after their first blank disappointment, on reading the spinster's refusal of a reconciliation. And it effected the purpose for which the old lady had caused it to be written, by making Rawdon very eager to get to London.

Out of Jos's losings and George Osborne's bank-notes, he paid his bill at the inn, the landlord whereof does not probably know to this day how doubtfully his account once stood. For, as a general sends his baggage to the rear before an action, Rebecca had wisely packed up all their chief valuables and sent them off under care of George's servant, who went in charge of the trunks on the coach back to London. Rawdon and his wife returned by the same conveyance next day.

"I should have liked to see the old girl before we went," Rawdon said. "She looks so cut up and altered that I'm sure she can't last long. I wonder what sort of a check I shall have at Waxy's. Two hundred-it can't be less than two hundredhey, Becky?"

İn consequence of the repeated visits of the gentlemen of whose attentions we have spoken in a preceding page, Rawdon and his wife did not go back to their lodgings at Brompton, but put up at an inn. Early the next morning, Rebecca had an opportunity of seeing them as she skirted that suburb on her road to old Mrs. Sedley's house at Fulham, whither she went to look for her dear Amelia and her Brighton friends. They were all off to Chatham, thence to Harwich, to take shipping for Belgium with the regiment-kind old Mrs. Sedley very much depressed and tearful, solitary. Returning from this visit, Rebecca found her husband, who had been off to Gray's Inn, and learned his fate. He came back furious.

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By Jove, Becky," says he, "she's only given me twenty pounds!"

Though it told against themselves, the joke was too good, and Becky burst out laughing at Rawdon's discomfiture.

CHAPTER XXVI.

BETWEEN LONDON AND CHATHAM.

ON quitting Brighton, our friend George, as became a person of rank and fashion, traveling in a barouche with four horses,

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